The Mystery of Sel
by Hiding.in.the.cookie.jar
Summary: After falling ill during a case, Watson takes Holmes to the country for a rest. But, like all the other times Holmes has tried to rest, he gets involved in murder, lies, and drama. Terrible summary, the story isn't as bad.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is probably the best story I have ever written. It was based off of a dream I had awhile ago. My dream is in chapters 3 and 4, but to tell you guys what happened would be a spoiler. I want to thank my wonderful Beta, Masterofallimagination. This story is so much better because of her!

**Maidstone, Kent **

**1896**

It took a long time for the health of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, to return. Holmes had exhausted himself on his previous case, going a week without food or sleep until he collapsed. I decided that he needed a proper rest in the country and took up an invitation an old friend gave. It took persuasion for Holmes to agree, but he finally gave in.

It was late at night and Holmes was fast asleep on the sofa while my friend, William Hayes, and I talked over coffee. Our conversation was interrupted when shouts and pounding came from the front of the house. Hayes ran to the door and Holmes woke with a start, jumping off of the sofa.

"Timothy, whatever is the matter?" I heard Hayes shout.

Holmes's face went white and he sat back down. I rushed over to him and knelt by his side.

"Easy, old man," I said.

"I'm alright, Watson. Just a little startled, that's all," he gave me a reassuring smile as some color came back to his face.

A door slammed and all was silent, I turned to Holmes, who shared my curiosity. A few moments passed and Hayes didn't return.

"A late patient, I suppose," I said.

"I suppose," Holmes said.

"Come now; let's get you up to bed."

Holmes stood up and I helped him to his room where he fell asleep before he could change clothes. I left his room, and instead of retiring myself I decided to wait up for Hayes. He hadn't returned by the time I was nodding off, though, so I went to bed. By early morning I was sure Hayes had returned, for I found his bedroom door closed, and I went downstairs in ease. I found Holmes already awake and reading a large novel.

"Good morning, Watson," Holmes said without looking up.

"Good morning, Holmes."

Holmes was obviously engaged in the book. I had never known him to put all of his attention in a book; he hadn't even noticed the maid come in and ask us if we wanted tea or coffee for breakfast. I answered for the both of us then turned to Holmes.

"Holmes?" he didn't look up, "Holmes?" I said louder.

"Yes Watson?"

"Didn't you hear the maid?"

"No, sorry."

"I see. it must be an intriguing book."

"Yes; _Great Expectations_. Your friend must be quite the Charles Dickens admirer."

I laughed at Holmes' sudden interest; his eyes had recovered little of their natural sparkle. He went back to his book for a few minutes while I observed him. He was quite far in the book, indicating he had been reading for awhile.

"How long have you been up?" I asked.

"For awhile," he answered.

"Didn't you sleep well?"

"Of course."

"Holmes, the reason you are here is to rest."

"And rest I will."

I sighed. Holmes went back to his book. Hayes came down soon after, looking haggard looking and flopping down in an armchair.

"I say, Hayes, whatever is wrong?" I asked.

"Watson, you must forgive me for running out like that last night," said Hayes.

"Of course, but what was the problem?"

"Timothy, a young boy who lives around here, took care of his uncle. His uncle fell ill and died."

I was silent; Holmes had looked up from his book.

"It was honestly a matter of time, his uncle had been in poor health - but it doesn't make sense!" Hayes added.

"Was he on any medication?" I asked.

"He hadn't taken any for the past few months. As he was improving greatly."

We were all silent for a long moment.

"Excuse me, I need to have a word with the maid," Hayes said as he left the room. Holmes leaned towards me.

"Watson, does the death make any sense to you in your medical opinion?"

"Holmes, don't even start, it is personal to Hayes and your nerves are on ends."

"I know. That's why I'm asking you, you're close to Hayes and it wouldn't be rude if you were to get involved!"

I shook my head, "It won't work, Holmes."

"But-"

"No!"

Holmes stared at me. "Watson, it could be murder for all we know!"

"Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson?"

"Go back to your book."

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Watson.

It was mid-morning when I found Holmes looking out the window.

"Holmes?" I asked. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look at me but continued looking out the window. Police constables and inspectors were outside a house down the road. Hayes was out there also, talking as an inspector took down his words.

"I told you Watson! A suspected murder!" Holmes chuckled.

"That doesn't necessarily mean murder, Holmes."

"Watson, observe the inspectors. As you can see, they checked the house for anything or anyone who may still be there."

"How do you know that?"

"By the cuffs of their sleeves."

"You can't see their shirt cuffs from here."

"Yes, but when one is talking to them you can observe every speck of dirt and dust that was hiding in the closet or on dressers."

"Why were you talking to them?" I asked already knowing where this was going.

"They asked for my input."

"Of course," I said with a roll of the eyes and sarcasm.

"No, really, they did," Holmes nodded. "I know it was murder. Illness doesn't kill that fast."

We turned our attention back to the inspectors. I watched for only a few minutes but found it uninteresting and picked up the newspaper. It took another 45 minutes for Hayes to return; when he did he nodded at Holmes.

"Watson," he said, smiling. "May I have permission from my doctor to work on a case?"

I sighed and gave it some thought.

"Don't overwork yourself and make sure you eat and rest."

Holmes's eyes resumed the brightness they had before his weakness. His smile broadened and he placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I thank you." I raised an eyebrow.

"You would have worked on that case even if I said no, wouldn't you?"

"Quite right – now, Hayes, I assume Watson and I are eligible to take a look at the scene."

"Yes, the inspectors are waiting for you," Hayes said rather gloomily.

"Come, Watson," Holmes ordered.

He walked at a quick pace, his eyes focused on the house. I struggled to keep up with him but Holmes never slowed down. It did not take long to reach the house, upon where the inspectors greeted us kindly, excited to meet the great Sherlock Holmes. As soon as we made it inside Holmes began interrogating Timothy Wellman, a young boy around the age of fifteen. The poor lad looked on the verge of tears but he kept a stiff upper lip.

"My uncle was paralyzed, sir," he said. "He was crippled by his illness. It took months for him to overcome his pride and accept he had to be carried around the house."

"He wasn't a heavy man, I take it," Holmes said.

"No, sir, he was rather small. He was only 5'6" and about 10 stone. He was fairly easy to carry even though he had been re-learning how to walk these past weeks."

"And – if I am I correct – without the help of medication."

"Yes, sir, that's just the thing. He hadn't been taking it – refused to – but when insisted on it last night, his health started to decline rapidly. H–he said he saw my mother – his sister. I found him calling out for her, his arms reaching out in front of him…but, my mother is dead Mr. Holmes. She died years ago!" Timothy had tears running down his cheeks. "The same way my uncle did!"

"Your mother was murdered?"

"No!" Timothy said angrily. "The illness was genetic, they both had it."

"Timothy, please, you must understand that your uncle was most likely murdered."

"No he wasn't!"

"I know that it's hard to accept but –"

"There isn't anything to accept! He wasn't murdered!"

With his head resting upon the table, Timothy sobbed. Holmes put his arms around the young boy in the comforting way I have seldom seen him do. The sympathetic hug lasted for lasted for some minutes before Timothy could continue.

"I'm sorry. I didn't sleep last night and I haven't been able to think straight," said Timothy.

"But you are alright talking about last night?" I asked.

"Yes, as I was saying, my mother died when I was young. My father had left and my uncle took care of me. A few years ago Dr. Hayes diagnosed him with Neurofibromatosis, saying it was genetic. I had already recognized it, but it wasn't until later in the year when I witnessed what it could do to a person. Finally, he became better and this last month he could have been mistaken for a healthy man at first glance.

"I went to his room the other night and he was laying there, pale, his eyes glassy, and he was mumbling deliriously to my mother. A friend and I stayed with him all night and by morning I went to bed with my friend watching him. When I woke up my uncle's condition had worsened, and it was only a few hours later that he told me to get Dr. Hayes and to hurry. I left quickly and you probably heard me pounding on the door at the late hour – I apologize for that. Dr. Hayes came with me but he couldn't do anything. My uncle died at about 3 o'clock in the morning. He was calling out for "Sel." I don't know who Sel is," Timothy finished with a shaky sigh and tears in his eyes.

Holmes held his hand and asked, "The friend that stayed with your uncle, what was his name?"

"His name is Seth Remington. He was friends with my parents but I hadn't met him until my uncle's illness."

Holmes nodded. Timothy saw something in his eyes and shook his head. "Mr. Holmes, Seth didn't kill anyone."

"I never said he did." Holmes gave a quick smile.

"How did your uncle die exactly? Did he have a seizure or fall into cardiac arrest?"

"Cardiac arrest, sir."

"Did your uncle see anyone that day?"

"No, no one besides Dr. Hayes, Seth and I. That's what I find so unsettling, sir."

"Very well, my friend and I will talk to the inspectors; we will also need to speak with the Remington fellow. Where can we find him?"

"He'll be here later in the day."

"Thank you."

With that he stood up and left to room with me following – most likely resembling a lost puppy. Holmes talked to the inspectors. They told the same story and said the body was at the morgue. An autopsy was being conducted at that moment.

Back at the house, Holmes let Hayes know that he would do all in his power to find out exactly who had killed Mr. Wellman. Later that afternoon Holmes popped his head into the sitting room with the cheeriness he usually displayed when on a case, cane and hat in hand.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"For what?" I asked.

"To visit the morgue, of course!"

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Holmes or Watson. *Cries in corner* But I hope you enjoy this.

After Holmes and I had the situation sorted out we went the morgue. Holmes listened to what the medical examiner had to say yet felt the need to look over the body and test results. But the M.E was right, Charles Wellman died from drug overdose. No one could make any sense of it but the inspectors had guessed - much to Holmes's annoyance - that Mr. Wellman must have made a mistake with his medication.

Holmes paced restlessly around Hayes's sitting room. He said there had to be a connection, it _had_ to be murder.

"Why should a man who had been taking medication for years make a mistake _now_?" He said with a hint of anger.

"Holmes, it's not impossible," I said.

"But highly unlikely. It's murder, I'm sure of it!"

"Mr. Holmes is probably correct. Timothy monitored everything he took," Hayes said.

"Did anyone have any grudges against Wellman?" Holmes asked.

"Wellman was one of the nicest men you could have met. Everyone liked him and he didn't have much money so no one would have received anything from inheritance."

Holmes paced quicker and started biting on his fingernails. I was glad that his attitude was back and he was returning to his regular demeanor - it proved that he was much better; even though he was becoming annoying. For hours he didn't speak a word and when supper was ready he had almost told me he wouldn't eat. In return to my stern look, he showed me an innocent smile and said it was a "slip of the tongue."

Thankfully, Holmes did eat and sleep but didn't a stop thinking about the case for a moment. By the second day of the case he considered "sel" as the murderer, someone Wellman wanted to contact and an unfinished word. The afternoon of the second day I found Holmes smoking on the outside steps. I joined him but he didn't acknowledge my presence, instead he stayed lost in thought. 10 minutes and two cigarettes later, Holmes looked at me in eagerness.

"Watson, to your knowledge, is there any drug that starts with sel?" he asked.

"Of course, seldane, Hayes is the only doctor in town; he must have prescribed it to whoever killed Wellman."

"Exactly, Watson!" he exclaimed, hurrying off into Hayes's office where he was logging prescriptions.

"Hayes, it is of the utmost importance that we need to know if you have prescribed seldane to anyone in the past week," Holmes said.

"Yes, just last week, to Remington."

Holmes and I shared a glance before running out with Hayes following us.

"Whatever is the matter?" Hayes asked.

"Remington killed Wellman!" Holmes shouted.

Holmes pounded on Timothy's door and entered with a brief explanation to the boy.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," he said standing only a few feet away.

"It was clever but tell me, what made you think of it?"

"Think of what?"

Holmes grabbed Remington by the front of his shirt. "Don't even start with me.

Why did you kill Wellman?"

"Do you believe me to be the one that murdered Wellman?"

"What's going on?" Timothy asked.

"Timothy, Remington was the one to kill your uncle," Hayes said and pulled the boy into his arms when he started crying.

"How could you?" he said in between sobs.

"I didn't! Your uncle was a brother to me!" Remington looked angrily at Holmes. "And get your hands off of me!" he cried, pushing him away roughly.

I took a step towards my friend, ready to protect him. But instead of becoming violent, Remington went over to Timothy – who had calmed down by now and was no longer in Hayes's arms.

"How could you have just killed him?" Timothy asked.

"I" Remington sighed and gave up. "I can't lie to you, Timothy. You're too young. You…must know that there was a reason – no matter how much his health was improving, he wouldn't have been alive much longer."

"I don't care! I still could have spent time with him. Can you arrest him, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm afraid the police will have to do that," Holmes replied. "If you and Dr. Hayes can go fetch them, Watson and I will keep an eye on Remington."

When we were left alone Remington confessed his motives to us. They were childish at best.

"You killed him because he didn't allow you to marry his sister?" I asked.

"Doctor, I loved her, and if it weren't for Wellman I would have proposed to her before her husband. I would have taken care of her while she was ill. I wouldn't have left her in pregnancy!" he explained.

"It doesn't matter, you're going to prison all the same," Holmes said.

It was silent for a couple minutes with the two men glaring at each other. Finally, Remington looked away.

"Help yourself to some tea," he indicating to the tray of tea in front of us.

Holmes and I gave him a puzzled look which made Remington sigh in annoyance.

"Oh, and I should probably mention I didn't poison it," he added sarcastically. "I may have killed a man but I haven't lost my manners."

After the tea was finished Remington started talking again.

"You came at a good time, I was just thinking about killing Timothy. He had to know at some time, and I couldn't risk my secret getting out. I figured if I told him today I could kill him the next minute. I probably would have told him over a meal that I had poisoned."

"That's terrible! You were going to kill a child so he wouldn't tell anyone of your sick and twisted murder? He had trusted you to be caring and help him through this and you think it is fine to poison him!" I had said, ready to beat the man.

The sociopath smiled sinisterly and the rest of the time was spent in silence. Remington watched Holmes while Holmes watched Remington. I didn't know what either one of them were expecting until I saw Holmes start to nod off a few times. When I asked him if he was alright he said he was merely tired. It wasn't long after that when he started shaking, weakly he announced he need some air and went outside. Worried, I went out with him. He leaned against the house and closed his eyes.

"Holmes, you are not well," I said.

"I don't know what's come over me."

"It won't be much longer until the police come to take Remington into custody and you can sleep the rest of the day."

"Watson," he said quietly as his breath became labored. "I believe I'm suffering from seldane overdose."

Holmes collapsed ungracefully to the ground. I checked his pulse but there was none. My diagnosis was drug-induced cardiac arrest.

_To be continued…_

A/N: Oooh…cliffhanger! Don't worry, everything will be explained in the next chapter! And if anyone remembers that this was based off of a dream then it was the part where Holmes falls into cardiac arrest. I don't know why I dreamed about that.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews! I promise Holmes will be fine, Watson is going to take good care of him. And I apologize if it's really cheesy. Also, it's been way to long since I updated. :(

My heart pounded within my chest as I tried very hard to collect myself. I wasted no time and started resuscitation.

"Watson?" I heard Hayes shout from behind.

He was by my side in an instant helping me; I wasn't paying attention to anything else but Holmes. It was the longest minute and 28 seconds I had ever experienced. Every second went as slow as it possibly could and it felt as though it would never stop. We did everything in our power and it didn't feel like it would work. Tears filled my eyes and I swore in my head, couldn't let him die. I wouldn't allow it. Not until we were old and spent a lifetime together. Even so, I wanted to go first. I couldn't witness his death…now or ever.

My thoughts immediately stopped when Holmes gasped for air, both Hayes and I sighed a breath of relief. He continued to take in as much oxygen as he could for some time while reality caught up with me. I held him in my arms, letting him lean against me with his head resting on my shoulder.

As his breathing calmed I looked around. Timothy and the inspectors were no longer in the yard but in the house. Soon after I realized this Timothy came out apologizing for everything. Hayes and I said that none of it was his fault, but he was still shaking like a leaf.

"How are you doing?" I whispered to Holmes.

"I've been better," he said wearily.

"Can you manage to walk?"

"In a few moments, allow me time to rest."

After a minute Holmes stood up with mine and Hayes's aid. Shortly after this the police came back out, giving word that Remington had run. My friend turned a shade paler (which did not seem very possible).

It took some time but we were able to get a fevered Holmes settled into bed with a cold cloth resting on his brow. I stayed by his side while his fever steadily rose accompanied with a cold sweat. Every few hours he would wake up, mumble something - sometimes in French - about past cases and criminals. Whenever he would do this I would say comforting words that sent him to sleep.

It was very early in the morning when Hayes came in. He asked how Holmes was and

I replied not well.

"Poor man," he said.

"Have they found Remington yet?"

"No, but they will. Just be patient." Hayes's reassurance made me smile a bit.

"Do you know how Remington managed this?" he asked.

"I know it sounds foolish, but we drank tea there."

"Well, we _are _British."

"Remington said he planned on killing Timothy over a meal. He must have meant afternoon tea and the seldane must have been in the milk. I don't know if he meant for this to happen, but Holmes always puts milk in his tea and he was the only one this afternoon. When he wakes up he will probably reiterate all of this...or correct me."

"I'll leave you two alone - oh and Watson," he turned around in the threshold of the door. "Don't exhaust yourself. Call on me when you start to grow tired and I'll watch Holmes."

"Thank you, but I think I will sleep here tonight."

"No you won't! You won't be any use to him if you continue like this." Here he reminded me of Mrs. Hudson when Holmes contracted influenza last winter.

"Give me another hour or so; I just want to be here in case he wakes up." That was my excuse last winter also.

"Don't worry, he will be fine." And that was what Mrs. Hudson told me.

Holmes's temperature started dropping awhile after Hayes left. It was lowering quite a bit and quickly – soon I removed the cold compress and Holmes woke up.

"What time is it?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"It's nearly 2 in the morning," I replied in a whisper.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"About 7 hours."

"I suppose Remington still isn't found?"

"No."

Holmes sighed and closed his eyes. "This was a perfect distraction to make sure he could get away with murder. The milk was clever though, I would have never thought he would choose it."

"Elementary?"

A smile was on Holmes's lips for a fraction of a second.

"Don't give it anymore thought. Got to sleep, you need rest now more than ever."

"I am lost without my Boswell," he said, grabbing my hand before drifting back asleep.

It wasn't another 15 minutes when I started to fall asleep. I hadn't even heard Hayes come in to tell me to go to bed.

"You will wake me if anything is wrong, won't you?" I said standing up with hesitation.

"Of course."

I went to my room and didn't bother to change before falling onto the bed, and letting Morpheus take me into his arms.


End file.
